


Homeless Network

by LivetoDream333 (orphan_account)



Series: Double-O Drabbles [20]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Pre-Skyfall, Q is a Holmes, Q is homeless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LivetoDream333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James was shot under a bridge and left to die, but was found by Quinton, a member of Sherlock's Homeless Network.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homeless Network

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Sherlock or James Bond...but this sort of happened...

 Homeless Network

 

When James was shot, he knew better than to get up with the wound he had. But he also knew there were no cameras under the Chiswick Bridge and that his people weren’t really looking after him on this assignment. Surely a senior Double-o could get a simple job done… James’ gun had jammed and he’d been shot, left lying in the sand as his enemies rushed off. He lay there, trying not to move or breathe too hard…hoping someone would come…it was late and dark though…the odds of anyone going under a damn bridge at night were slim. It had to be a cold night as well, unseasonably chilly. Just James’ luck.

So when James heard something light drop on concrete he froze, holding his breath. Quick, almost silent steps across concrete and then over shifting sand towards him. “Who’s there?” Bond demanded, pointing his gun.

“Please don’t shoot me… I’m trying to help.” A weak, rough voice pleaded. James lowered the gun and a small figure moved forward, he was covered in dirt and his coat—something obviously once-posh—was ripped and not much good against the cold. His face was grimy and dirty, his dark hair curled and full of dust. Homeless…but his glasses were in pristine condition and his hands were perfectly clean. He didn’t smell though, as if he kept himself clean and then dirtied only his face…as if he were hiding from someone.

The man knelt down next to James and pulled his coat off, putting it over the wound and putting pressure on the wound, his hand was scarily bony and his skin was pale. The man pulled out a phone—pristine condition, making James wonder what sort of homeless had a pristine phone and glasses and obviously not enough money for food, drug addict? “Hello, Dr. Watson? It’s Quinton. I’m sorry to call so late but someone’s been shot and I can’t… I’d say to the left of the L1 vertebrae… I will…thank you Dr. Watson.”

“Who is that?”

“Doctor John Watson… He used to live with the detective, Sherlock Holmes. Holmes had a Network of homeless that he would use to keep his eyes on the city and get information when he couldn’t be in two places at once. He gave us phones to contact him with and money if we were useful, they say he was heartless but even when some of the Network wasn’t useful he’d send out money to keep food in us.”

“Not in you it seems.”

“I’m naturally skinny…but…I haven’t been eating lately…you’re right.” Quinton commented. “Sherlock committed suicide two years ago, Doctor Watson takes care of us now, when he can.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“You’re MI6.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your gun, the way you’re dressed, your attitude, your training, and the fact that you’ve been shot multiple times.” The thin man shrugged.

“Alright then…”

“He’ll be here soon, just don’t talk…rest. He used to be in the army, he can patch you up good as new…” Quinton said, shivering in the cold.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’ve been freezing for five years…it hasn’t killed me yet. Shut up.”

800Q8

“Quinton?” A familiar voice called. James knew it. Watson… Captain Watson. John. James had met John once, back in his navy days…they hadn’t spoken in years. Not since shortly after he’d been shot.

“Over here, sir.”

“Just John, Quinton.” The man corrected, moving forward with a large bag. He pulled a large blanket out and handed it to Q. “You’re freezing to death, take it.”

“Thank you, sir…” Q whispered, pulling it around him tightly. John knelt down and started uncovering the wound, handing Q a flashlight. Q flipped it on and John looked up at James.

“Shot again you idiot?” John wondered with a smile.

“Hardly my fault the last time…and not my fault this time.”

“If you say so.” John rolled his eyes. He looked at the wound and began to go through his bag, slipping on gloves as he began to work. If the shaking light bothered him, he didn’t say anything, knowing how cold Quinton most have been. It took a while, but John got James patched up enough to get up. Thankfully with the pressure, James hadn’t lost too much blood.

“Can you go to a hospital?” Quinton asked.

“Not a good idea to do that.” James commented, feeling a bit bad that the one coat Quinton had was ruined with his blood….even if it hadn’t been much, it had been something to protect the boy from the elements.

“MI6?”

“Not a good idea.” Traitor in MI6, not a good idea to go there.

“Home?”

“Very bad idea.” Again, traitor.

“Mine’s always open to an old friend.” John said. “You can stay as well, Quinton, you look terrible, have you eaten at all?”

“I could say the same for you.” Quinton snapped, some steel in his voice. They were both suffering Sherlock’s death.

“Settles it, you’re coming to my flat, I’ll make sure you get fed something and cleaned up…maybe get you a jacket.”

“Couldn’t accept it. Just wash mine, it will be fine.” Quinton said as he and John helped James towards the road.

“Quinton, that coat is ruined, if I wash it it will come apart. I’ll get you a new one.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“Then I’ll get you one. You saved my life, I can’t let you go cold, even if you’ve ‘been cold for five years.’” James offered. Not a handout a reward for doing something good…Quinton could accept that.

“I could do with that…”

“Pride, John, never give something for free to this boy or he won’t accept it.”

“I’m not a boy.” Quinton sighed.

“Doubtful.”

“I’m thirty-two, thank you very much.” Quinton commented as they got into the cab with the two of them.

“I can’t believe it.” John stated. He couldn’t say he’d ever seen Quinton’s face without grime on it, but he never looked older than his teens.

“Believe it…” Quinton shrugged.

800Q8

“Go get cleaned up, Quinton. Mrs. Hudson will have something made up when you’re out.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, well you shouldn’t have covered your face in dirt then…clean up.” John was using his captain voice.

“Yes, sir.” Quinton sighed, leaving the room and heading to the bath. John didn’t even bother to ask how he knew which door it was.

“How have you been, John? You look like hell.” James commented after John had gone around the flat.

“Best friend killed himself in front of me… I’m not alright.”

“I thought I was your best friend.” James teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, well, he was better.” John almost smiled.

“I’m hurt.” James frowned.

“I’m sure you have someone else to fill the gap. Like that Alec fellow.”

“Good ol’ Alec…still a complete cock-up in everything he does.”

“Like you then?”

“Definitely like me.” James nodded as John double-checked his wound.

“Yoo-hoo!” Mrs. Hudson called, opening the door, carrying a tray of food. She set it down on the table and moved to go get glasses. When she walked back in she screamed and dropped them.

“What’s wrong?” John asked before he whirled around and saw Quinton, a towel wrapped around his waist. The young man looked exactly like Sherlock. “Oh my God…”

“Sh-Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Quinton, my name’s Quinton, I apologize for startling you, I realize I look a bit like him, much shorter than him though as I can recall.”

The voice was different and they both relaxed. Mrs. Hudson looked disapproving.

“Um…sir, my clothes were missing.”

“I took them. I have some clothes in the upstairs room, might be a bit short, but they’ll be warmer than what you’ve been wearing, take whatever you like.”

“I can’t—”

“You’re clothes offended me, go grab new ones.”

“Fine…” Quinton sighed turning around and leaving to go up the stairs.

“God, nearly gave me a heart attack…he looked like our dear Sherlock so much… Absolutely frightful. Anyway, here’s some dinner and tea, I’ll go get glasses and clean this up.”

“Don’t worry about it Mrs. Hudson, I’ll clean it.” Quinton said, walking down the stairs, dressed in what was obviously John’s least expensive set of clothes. “I frightened you after all, my fault.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re welcome.” Quinton said, following Mrs. Hudson into the kitchen, she instantly looked at him.

“What happened?” She asked in a whisper. “Why are you living in the streets, Gabriel?”

“I got into a bit of trouble…with my computer…needed to hide a bit…then Mycroft began pushing me and I couldn’t stand it.”

“Your brother wouldn’t want you living in the cold, Gabriel. Sherlock would be furious if he knew.”

“He did know, and who cares, he’s dead now. Why do you think he said his favorite in his Network was me? Just leave it…I’m safer on the streets than I am in the real world. I’ve got more than one assassin on me, Mrs. Hudson.”

“You Holmes boys and your assassins…” Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily before the two of them returned to the front room.

800Q8

“Why can’t you go back?” John asked James.

“Traitor at MI6… That’s part of the reason why I was shot. I don’t know who it is though.”

“I can find them…if you give me a laptop.” Quinton commented.

“Are you—?”

“I wasn’t always homeless, I can work a damn computer better than anyone you fucking know, just give me a few minutes and I’ll have a name or names for you.”

“You’d have to hack MI6.”

“Child’s play.”

“Is that why you’re homeless?” James wondered. “Hack someone you shouldn’t have?”

“Helped MI5 once… Assassins want me dead… I disappeared, no one cares about dirty homeless people in the streets. Assassins are extraordinarily blind to us. It’s a bit cold though…this place feels like heaven and the tea—” Just then Mrs. Hudson arrived carrying more tea for him. “Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re welcome, Quinton.” Mrs. Hudson stated.

“Will they be able to find you?”

“No…the person who found me last time was one of the only people I could admit was better than me with a computer…he’s dead now though. I can manage sneaking into MI6 without getting caught.” John handed over his computer.

Less than two minutes and Q had four names for James, handing them over.

“Ever thought of working for MI6?”

“No…”

“Q is open, I could put in a word.” James commented. “You’d be warm. I’ll bribe you with food if I have to.”

“I like chocolate and tea if you wish to bribe me, dark chocolate only, milk is too sweet and white chocolate isn’t even chocolate, it’s an abomination.”

“Would you consider it if I bribed you?”

“Would you kill a man for me?”

“Give me a name.”

“Komicov he’s been after me for years.”

“Komicov? Jesus, Quinton, how are you still fucking alive? He’s one of the best assassins in the world. He nearly killed me!” James exclaimed.

“No one looks at a homeless person… He’s been lurking here though, he refuses to leave until I’m dead…and…well, he knows I haven’t left. Don’t know how he knows. He might know my last name, that might be part of it.”

“What does your last name have to do with anything?” James wondered.

“A person with my name has safety here, he probably thinks I’m under my eldest brother’s protection… But I knew it wouldn’t be wise to take that sort of protection…just unsafe. And I hate being under someone’s thumb.”

“I’ll kill him if you interview for Q… The bastard shot me the last time we met.”

“We have a deal then…but I’d still like chocolates.”

“You can have all of the chocolates in the world.”

It wasn’t until Mrs. Hudson and John left that James finally looked at Q. “You’re a Holmes aren’t you?”

“The youngest…”

“That explains why you haven’t eaten… And how you would have powerful friends in the government and why you would have worked with MI5. I’ve heard of Mycroft before…met him once or twice. He’s…intimidating.”

“Try growing up with him. No one fucking intimidates me anymore.”

“They’ll hire you on the spot, you know.”

“I know…”

“Is that so bad?”

“I’m not telling them I’m a Holmes until I’m hired… They’ll just have to deal with hiring a nameless man…if they want me they can have me…if not I’ll go somewhere else. I’m not getting a job because I’m a Holmes.”

“I was right about you…you’re proud.”

“Always have been… Aren’t you?”

“Of course. It’s just—”

“Didn’t expect that out of me… Most people underestimate me…you’re not the first and I daresay you won’t be the last.”

“I’ll try not to make the same mistake twice.”

“That’s a start.” Q smiled. James smiled back, slightly enamored with the man in front of him, who had—at one point—been a homeless man he’d almost killed.

**Author's Note:**

> Much Love.


End file.
